


Unspoken

by TheLadyZephyr



Series: Zee's Ineffable Husbands Ficlets [8]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: M/M, Mutual Pining, Unresolved Romantic Tension, wrist kisses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-30
Updated: 2019-08-30
Packaged: 2020-09-30 14:54:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20448944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLadyZephyr/pseuds/TheLadyZephyr
Summary: They didn’t talk about it. They both knew, of course, but they didn’t talk about it. It was unspoken, a mutual, silent agreement. Crowley could count on one hand the number of times they’d referenced it even obliquely, and each occurrence had carved a permanent scar in his tattered heart.It was true, though. No less real for being undeclared. No less powerful for being locked away. It bubbled up, occasionally, when Crowley’s white knuckled grip slipped.Currently, he was slipping quite a lot. The difference was that this time… this time, he thought Aziraphale was slipping too.Written for the prompt "wrist kisses"





	Unspoken

They didn’t talk about it. They both knew, of course, but they didn’t talk about it. It was unspoken, a mutual, silent agreement. Crowley could count on one hand the number of times they’d referenced it even obliquely, and each occurrence had carved a permanent scar in his tattered heart.

It was true, though. No less real for being undeclared. No less powerful for being locked away. It bubbled up, occasionally, when Crowley’s white knuckled grip slipped.

Currently, he was slipping quite a lot. The difference was that this time… this time, he thought Aziraphale was slipping too.

It was dark. The moon above them was full, but veiled behind wispy clouds, muted silver light illuminating the deserted street and reflecting off the puddles of rainwater collected on the ground. They shouldn’t still be here, really. That was a slip in and of itself. The whole point of arriving separately to the concert was to avoid being seen together. Arrive separately, get lost in the crowd, discuss their progress with Warlock, then leave.

They did alright with the first part of the plan. It was the leaving that was giving them trouble.

“I’m telling you, angel, he’ll be one of ours,” Crowley whispered. He didn’t need to whisper, really; there was no-one around to hear. The metal of the Bentley’s door was cold against his back, a contrast to the heat he swore he could feel radiating from the angel leaning against the car by his side.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Aziraphale murmured back, glancing across at him. There was a soft smile playing on his lips.

Crowley watched him through his sunglasses. “You know I’m right.” He bumped his shoulder gently against Aziraphale’s. _Don’t talk about it_, he reminded himself when his attention caught on the warmth he could feel through the layers of fabric. “When was the last time you saw a composer that talented who _wasn’t_ destined for a one-way trip downstairs?”

Aziraphale scrunched up his nose, clearly attempting to look dismayed, but Crowley could see the glint of amusement in his eyes.

“Tell you what,” Crowley said conspiratorially, leaning closer, “you’re welcome to save that mediocre second chair cellist instead. I won’t even try to thwart you.”

“How kind of you,” Aziraphale replied. He looked down his nose at Crowley, lips pressed together into a stern line.

Crowley returned the look, schooling his face into a disapproving glower.

Aziraphale’s lips twitched.

Crowley arched an eyebrow.

They dissolved into smothered laughter, heads bowed towards one another. Crowley tugged his sunglasses off to rub at his eyes with the back of his hand, still grinning. His heart was fluttering under his chest, and when he looked up to meet the angel’s eyes, it squeezed.

Aziraphale returned his gaze, eyes dancing and lingering laughter still curling his lips. Crowley swallowed.

_ Don’t talk about it.  _ He watched as Aziraphale blinked, pale eyes grey in the moonlight.  _Don’t even think about it._

He was thinking about it.

The wind picked up, rippling the surface of the puddles and causing them both to shiver.

Aziraphale looked down, breaking eye contact. “It’s, ah, it’s chilly,” he observed, fiddling with the sleeve of his coat.

“Mmm.” Crowley studied the way the light fell across Aziraphale’s face, the shadows caused by his lashes.

The ache in his chest redoubled.

The angel looked back up, and his breath hitched as he saw Crowley still staring. He blinked, then his eyes softened.

“Crowley…”

The wind changed direction, snatching at Crowley’s hair and pulling a section of shoulder length waves out of place.

“Oh.” Aziraphale’s voice was barely a whisper, ghosting past his lips. “Here, let me.”

He stepped forward, and before Crowley had quite registered what was happening, the angel brushed his fingertips across Crowley’s cheek and tucked his hair behind his ear.

Crowley sucked in a startled breath, and Aziraphale froze with his hand in Crowley’s hair, eyes widening in surprise.

“Oh,” Aziraphale breathed again.

Crowley felt himself slipping, heart roaring in his chest. Just once. Just a little.

His eyes dropped to Aziraphale’s lips.

Aziraphale made a noise, a smothered gasp, and started to pull his hand back.

_ “No.”  _ Crowley hadn’t intended on sounding quite so desperate, but the broken plea tore itself from his throat without his permission.

Aziraphale shuddered, closing his eyes like the word had cut right through him. His hand stilled against the side of Crowley’s jaw.

“Aziraphale.”

The angel’s eyes fluttered open at the sound of Crowley’s voice.

“I…” Crowley didn’t have the words.  _They didn’t talk about it._

The angel’s hand trembled against Crowley’s cheek. Aziraphale was taking slow, controlled breaths through his mouth. His eyes were locked onto Crowley’s, half lidded. Something sharp tore in Crowley’s chest, and _hope_ kindled in its place.

They didn’t talk about it.

But maybe they could.

He moved before he could second guess himself. He clenched his hand into a fist, then raised it to encircle Aziraphale’s wrist. His thumb glided over the pulse point.

Aziraphale choked out a gasp, eyes flying wide.

Crowley turned his face towards Aziraphale’s hand. His own heart was clattering away, more than a match for Aziraphale’s pulse as it raced under his fingertips. Six millennia. Six thousand years he’d been waiting.

He twisted his thumb, catching the edge of Aziraphale’s sleeve and pulling it down to expose his wrist to the icy air. The angel’s hand spasmed, fingers twitching.

Crowley hesitated. The muted sounds of traffic rumbled in the distance, undercut by the steady plink of rainwater still dripping from a pipe nearby. The warm plume of Crowley’s breath blew over Aziraphale’s wrist, visible in the cold.

He flicked his eyes up to meet Aziraphale’s. The angel was staring, lips parted, utterly frozen in place.

Crowley pressed his lips against the fragile skin of Aziraphale’s wrist.

He did it slowly, savouring the sensation, and he kept his eyes on Aziraphale’s face. Aziraphale swayed forward, eyes falling closed, arm going limp in Crowley’s grip.

It was overwhelming. Crowley pulled back, overcome by the giddiness thrumming through him, then kissed Aziraphale’s wrist again. He let his lower lip drag across the skin, and was rewarded when the motion pulled a wordless sound from the angel.

Triumph hammered in his chest, and he dropped Aziraphale’s hand to step forward, beaming smile growing as he reached out—

“Wait!”

_ No. _

He froze in place, and Aziraphale took a half-step backwards.

_ No, no, no. _

“Aziraphale—”

“Crowley, wait.” Aziraphale wrung his hands. “We—we can’t, I mean, I don’t—”

Dread rolled over Crowley like a car crash in slow motion, sharp and burning.

“Angel…”

Aziraphale took another step back. His lip was quivering. “I’m… I’m sorry.”

Crowley could barely hear him over the ringing in his ears.

They stood, staring across the space between them, and after a tortured moment Crowley realised Aziraphale was waiting. He managed a nod, teeth clenched together.

Aziraphale blew out a breath. “Right… good… goodbye, Crowley.”

The angel hesitated a moment longer, then turned away and started walking down the street, head bowed. Crowley watched him, numb.

Aziraphale stopped, just before stepping into the shadow of a building. He turned and looked back.

“I’ll… I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Crowley summoned the last dregs of his willpower and forced a smile to his lips. “See you tomorrow, angel.”

He kept it up until Aziraphale turned away again, then watched until the angel was out of sight. He stayed there long after Aziraphale was gone, staring down the street, waiting for the new tear in his heart to scab over. He had a feeling this one would take a while.

He should have known better, really.

He raised a hand to his lips.

They didn’t talk about it. 

**Author's Note:**

> The YEARNING. I cannot believe I took a fluffy prompt and made it... this. I blame [Kedreeva](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kedreeva/pseuds/Kedreeva) as being a bad influence on me.
> 
> The next one in this series will be super fluffy, I promise. 
> 
> If you'd like to reblog this one on tumblr (THANK YOU) you can find it [here](https://theladyzephyr.tumblr.com/post/187371978567/prompt-hands-hand-kisses-wrist-kisses-just). 
> 
> ~ Zee


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